


Strange Bedfellows

by lanalucy



Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Choking, Community: hc_bingo, Consensual Violence, Crying, Cunnilingus, Emotional Manipulation, F/M, Fight Sex, Fighting Kink, Flashbacks, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Infidelity, Love/Hate, Nightmares, Non-Explicit Sex, Non-Graphic Violence, Oral Sex, Porn Battle, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rough Sex, Sexual Violence, Spanking, Tenderness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-10
Updated: 2014-06-10
Packaged: 2018-02-04 03:27:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1764115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lanalucy/pseuds/lanalucy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kara and Saul both came back from New Caprica damaged. Okay, more damaged.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Strange Bedfellows

**Author's Note:**

> Written for hc_bingo - square thirteen: wild card.
> 
> Also incorporates all these prompts from 2014 pornbattle" Kara/Saul - abandoned, alcohol, bright, boxing, cell, cigar, disobedient, kiss, lost, powerless, questioning, scent, shatter, sweat.
> 
> These two are aggressive and love to fight. It's canon. 
> 
> Though I haven't been graphic (I don't think), I haven't shied away from the idea that they both get off on the violence. If the combination of violence and sex is a trigger for you, you're better off skipping this one.
> 
> Some might also view this as dubiously consensual. I don't think it is, but again, if that's something on which you're sensitive, better to move on to something less triggery.

He threw another punch, and it made a solid _thunk!_ he felt all the way up his arm. He didn’t love anything about Kara Thrace, but if there was anything he _could_ love, it was that she could take a punch. He enjoyed hitting her. He enjoyed her hitting him back.

Her head whipped back. She brayed out a laugh. “That all you got, old man?”

He snarled, “There’s only one Old Man on this ship, and it’s not me.”

“Not from where I’m standing. Come on, **old man** , make it hurt.”

He hit and punched and she backed toward the edge of the gym in constant retreat from his assault until she ended up against the wall.

“Guess you got some stones after all.” She wasn’t cowering exactly, but he had her trapped.

“Shut the frak up, Starbuck.”

“Pretty sure I never shut up, old man.” She smirked at the flush that rose over his face in response to the continued taunt.

“No wonder Anders lives on a different ship.”

Her face turned to stone. “We’re not talking about my husband,” she spat.

“Oh, ho! I hit a nerve. Do you talk in your sleep? Do you mumble Apollo’s name instead of your husband’s?” He got a moment of intense satisfaction at the obvious strike. _Bet she regrets confiding in me now._

She came back swinging, driving him away from the wall, back toward the middle of the room. He must’ve pissed her off. Good. He especially needed the fight today.

“So what exactly makes you madder? That you weren’t good enough for Apollo, or that the one you married instead is less of a man than you are?”

She hauled off and landed a heavy enough punch that he stumbled back, nearly losing his feet. She kept coming, taking advantage of his momentary lack of coordination. “Maybe your memory’s frakked, old man. I left, Lee didn’t. And you don’t know what the frak you’re talkin’ about. Sam’s plenty man enough. More man than you, that’s for sure.”

He moved into defensive posture, fending off her punches until he found a moment to regather and pull back for the bout-ending strike. When it landed, she fell and slid backward a couple of feet, finally stunned into silence. The slight smile on her face said she’d gotten what she needed. He hadn’t. He needed her to fight some more. “Come on, Starbuck! Get your ass back up. Or maybe I should go find someone who can actually fight.”

She fumbled her way up to her haunches, and just when he thought she was going to stand up, she swept his legs, sending him to the floor. She pounced on him, her knee just barely not nailing his balls to the floor. “I can fight and you know it. Maybe this isn’t the fight you want? Maybe you need me to fight dirty?” She uncurled her fist and smacked him on the side of the head, her fingers catching in what little hair he had.

 _Gods. Ellen._ He kept his eyes closed a long beat, needing Starbuck not to see. They didn’t give each other that. Not willingly anyway.

“That’s it, isn’t it? You need me to fight like a girl. That get you off? That the game that you and Ellen played when you couldn’t get it up?”

“Don’t talk about Ellen,” he roared, that last image of his wife swimming in his vision. He tossed Kara off easily, then hauled her back and straddled her hips, holding her arms down beside her head. Her eyes glittered with relief before she shuttered the emotion away, and he remembered she needed the fight as much as he did, for her own reasons. He let her struggle against his grip, and adjusted his knees to hold her lower body in place.

“You don’t get to talk about my wife. Ever.”

“Whatever, old man,” she said dismissively. She looked down their bodies and back into his remaining eye. “So, are we fighting or frakking here? I can’t tell.”

He pulled to his feet, her wrists still tight in his grip. “Frakking,” he snorted. “As if I’d ever frak you. Me and the Old Man may be the only two men left in the fleet who haven’t.” He was shocked when she went white and dropped her hands, her shoulders slumped.

“Whatever,” she said again, this time without making eye contact. “We done here?”

He opened his hands, stepping back with his arms up in surrender. “Guess you really did lose something down there. You’re not nearly as badass as you used to be, Starbuck.” Again, he watched her color fade from her face, and she turned and stalked out of the gym.

This day was not turning out how he’d hoped. Usually she fought until one or both of them were bloody. It got them both hot.

Later, when he got to the rec room, she was already drinking. Anybody else, and she’d be drunk. Something else the two of them had in common: they could drink like fish and still pull a shift with no one the wiser. He sat at a different table and listened to her hurl her version of playful insults at the triad players at her table, the entire room getting more and more tense, just waiting for Starbuck to explode. She was even more prone to violence since they’d gotten off New Caprica, and everyone was on tenterhooks around her.

“Why don’t you pick on someone your own size, Starbuck?” he called over his shoulder.

“Shut the frak up, **old man**. Unless you’re offering to let me beat the crap out of you again.”

He hooted. “That’s not the way I remember it. I remember you turning and running away with your tail between your legs.”

“At least I’ve got something between my legs.”

There was dead silence for a moment, then a hurried mass exodus, mutters and cautious looks thrown their way in the rush out the hatch.

“What was that?”

“You heard me.”

“I made you run from the gym crying earlier, and now you’re casting aspersions on my manhood?”

Her boisterous laugh startled him. “You’ve never _made_ me do anything. You don’t have the balls to go up against the Old Man and his favorite pilot. And I doubt you even know what aspersions means, for frak’s sake!”

He stood and waved his bottle at her. “You’re not the Old Man’s favorite anymore, Starbuck. Hell, you’re not even Starbuck anymore. You’re just a sissy-girl who can’t hang on to a man.”

She rose, standing with her back to him for a long moment. He thought maybe he heard her sniff, but nothing he’d said would have made the Kara Thrace he knew cry. She quietly and calmly set her drink down and walked out the hatch.

Godsdamnit! What the frak was wrong with her that she wouldn’t fight when he got dirty? She _never_ backed down from a fight.

He went after her, catching sight of her rounding a corner in the corridor just before she moved out of sight. He kept stalking, pretty sure she was aware that he was following, because she started making random turns. When he came around a corner and she was just standing there, then disappeared as soon as she saw him, he knew she _was_ spoiling for a fight. She just wanted it on her own terms, and frak if he knew what they were.

He kept chasing her, gaining ground, and he caught up with her in the corridor to his quarters. He spared half a second to wonder if she’d done it on purpose, then grabbed her arm and roughly pushed her through his hatch, dogging it behind him.

“Let’s finish this.” He pushed her toward the table.

“Fine.”

“Say it again. Tell me to my face that I’ve got nothing between my legs. No balls. If you’re gonna insult me, look me in the eyes when you do it.”

She pushed up the sleeves of her BDU jacket and got right in his face. “You’re a dickless, useless excuse for a man. It’s not just your eye that’s missing. You’re not all here anymore. Get used to it. Or prove me wrong.”

He reached out and ripped her jacket from her shoulders, tossing it to the floor behind him. He pushed her into the table, and she struggled, but her eyes said she wanted the fight as rough as he could give it. The struggle was just for show, as always. He held her down with a hand on her chest, just below her throat. She was completely off balance, and her legs kicked fruitlessly in his direction. He caught them between his and jerked at her pants. She was still holding on to his arm, her blunt nails digging into his skin, and she was on the edge of hyperventilating. He continued to hold her down as he pulled her pants and panties forcefully past her knees, then turned her over. “I’m not frakking looking at you while I do this. Gods know I don’t need that nightmare.” He hesitated, started to ask if she was sure, but as if she knew, she interrupted, her maddening voice grating on his last nerve.

“Just do it, old man. Unless you’re trying to prove me right instead of wrong. Show me what kind of man you _think_ you are.” He ground down on her neck with one hand, using his other hand to shove himself into her. She grunted at the pressure, but she was as wet as Ellen had ever been after one of their fights.

 _Ellen’d probably be laughing her ass off if she could see me. No. Not thinking of Ellen while I do this._ He thrust, over and over, listening to the sounds she made, feeling the familiar tingle begin in his balls. She put a hand underneath herself on the table, and just before he came, she tightened around him in her own orgasm, eerily quiet. Her eyes closed and she relaxed, still, as if she were at peace for the briefest moment.

He pulled out abruptly, hauling her up backward by the neck of her tanks, and held her in place as he stripped them off. He half-knocked her toward the rack and didn’t respond to her protests.

The next time, they frakked face to face, still without even the remotest hint of vulnerability, taking out their grief and anger and fear and gods knew what else on each other’s bodies. Afterward, she rolled to the side of the rack to put her feet down. His arm wrapped roughly around her waist and yanked her back.

“Just go to sleep, Starbuck.” He enjoyed having the feel of a warm body next to his - she didn’t smell or feel like Ellen, but she was warm, and he missed that, especially after the last year of having Ellen sleeping next to him.

She stayed on her side, holding herself stiffly in place until she finally fell asleep. Once she was asleep, her body loosened and he relaxed a little more, and he was drifting toward slumber himself when she jerked next to him. Years as a soldier had him instantly awake again.

“No. I won’t say it.” She pushed against his arm, but he held firm.

“Kacey, honey, come to momma.” Her voice was softer - gentle, entreating - and one hand was stretched toward the edge of his rack.

 _What the frak? Momma?_ She was obviously deranged. Or having some sick nightmare.

“Let her go. No, don’t hurt her!” She fought his arm again, kicking his shin lightly.

“Don’t hurt her. No. I’ll...say whatever you want. Just don’t hurt Kacey.” She sounded defeated, her voice almost devoid of emotion, like it had been in the gym.

_Who the frak is Kacey? And who the frak is she talking to?_

“Fine. Let me have her.” She hugged his arm tighter, petting it as if it were a child. She stiffened, held on tighter and quietly said, “I love you.” She stroked his arm again. “I said it, okay? Let me take her away now. She doesn’t deserve to be in here.” Her arms stretched out in front of her, reaching for something, and she started crying noiselessly. “Let me have her back. Please. I’ll say it again.”

He whispered in her ear, “Gotta hold on, Starbuck, we’ll get you out.” Immediately, she stopped crying and her body tensed, then let go as she fell deep into sleep again.

What had happened to her when she’d gone missing? She’d showed up during the exodus from New Caprica, appearing none the worse for her incarceration, and everyone had been fooled by the Starbuck bravado, himself included. He fell asleep still wondering - about everything.

He dreamed about Ellen - about her happy smile, the way she’d relaxed down on the planet, even after the Cylons had come. He’d hated leaving _Galactica_ and Bill, but she’d loved him being a civilian. She’d been a rock after he’d gotten out of detention, happy to see him, even when he wasn’t whole anymore. Their last conversation repeated on a loop, little things changing each time, and during the last few, he swore she was telling him that she knew what he was going to do and it was okay. He felt her arms around him, soothing and exciting him at the same time. _I could use a drink, Saul._

 _“Shh. You do what you have to do, Saul. I’ll be okay.”_ The Ellen in his dream took off that ratty sweater she’d been wearing, took off her shirt and bra. He looked his fill for a moment and she picked up his hand to bring it to her breast. He knew she was saying ‘ _One more frak for old times’ sake before you kill me, Saul’_ in her own special way. It was too fast and nothing like their usual fraks, but in the dream, she didn’t care - just stroked his back and let him cry.

Some part of him knew that it wasn’t a dream. He wasn’t quite surprised when he awoke to his hands on Starbuck’s naked body and her kissing him. Maybe she needed this comfort as much as he did - she’d been gone four months and gods only knew what had happened to her. He missed Ellen too much to protest, so he held her and let her hold him and they both pretended not to notice the other’s tears.

She was gone when he woke up.  
~*~*~*~*~*~  
They passed each other in the corridors over the next few days, stiff nods and sloppy salutes making that night seem like some kind of bizarre dream. Saul got restless, though, and he wanted another fight. Living back in the confines of the ship reminded him a little too much of the detention cells in some strange way. Drinking helped, but not enough. Under the guise of reacquainting himself with the ship, he was on the flight deck when she came in from CAP. He remembered how wound up he used to get after a long flight, especially a boring one. He hoped she’d be up for it. If not, maybe she’d be up for a frak. Not that he was frakking her. He didn’t think anyone would call what they were doing frakking.

“Starbuck!” he called across the deck, relishing the subtle way the crew came to attention, waiting for some signal that would tell them they needed to get out of the way of another knock-down drag-out between _Galactica_ ’s former Top Gun and XO.

She turned lazily, sauntering in his direction as if she didn’t have a care in the world. She didn’t even bother to pretend to salute. “Yeah, old man?”

“1800. Pilots’ gym. Be ready to fight.”

“Gladly. Maybe this time I’ll let you win.”

He snorted, but otherwise let it go, striding away with a sense of anticipation he hadn’t felt in a long time. He knew that there was something wrong with her, wrong with them both: New Caprica had taken its toll in blood. He could never tell anybody, but he preferred her antagonistic. He liked fighting with her. Always had. True, he liked fighting with Ellen better, but Ellen wasn’t here anymore.

She was already there when he arrived, busy strapping her gloves on her hands. He had someone help wrap his hands and once he had his gloves on, they started to spar. Easy at first, dancing around each other, until she got through his defenses and clipped him in the nose. _Frak, that hurt!_

They went at it in earnest after that, completely silent except for their grunts of exertion and the occasional groan when a blow landed perfectly. The gym emptied, and he called time-out, going to dog the hatch, then came back swinging. He waited, looking for cues that told him she was tiring. He felt a sudden need to break her.

“Who’s Kacey?”

She faltered, but recovered. “Nobody.”

“How come Nobody calls you momma?”

“She doesn’t. Not anymore.”

“Good thing. Who the frak would want you for a mother?”

She hesitated again, then came after him harder. “Nobody.”

He sneered. “Got that right.” For a few minutes, she fought rougher, taking every opening to get inside his reach and score a blow. He let her, knowing she was tiring herself more with every step. He wanted her on the edge of too tired, so when he went for the kill, she’d have to dig deep to fight back. It was playing dirty, but given the opportunity, she’d do the same thing. He’d never say it to her face, but she was a worthy opponent.

“Who’s Kacey?”

“I already told you. Nobody.”

“She has to be somebody. You said _she_ doesn’t call you momma anymore.”

“Godsdamnit, old man, she is none of your frakking business!” She came after him, punches flying wild, and he sidestepped them easily.

“Why would she have called you momma in the first place?” He was almost having more fun riling her up than he had the other day when they’d been hitting each other bare-knuckled.

“She didn’t know any better,” she said, tight-lipped. “She was barely three.”

 _What? Kacey was actually real? Not just a nightmare?_ “Must not have been very bright, if she believed in you. Guess she took after you, Starbuck.” Not that he actually believed that. Her mind worked differently than other people’s, but she was bright. If she ever had a daughter, something he had a very hard time imagining, she’d be as smart as her mother was. But...that wasn’t the point of what they were doing, was it?

“Shut the frak up, old man! Kacey’s beautiful and smart! She’s better than I’ll ever be!” She was shrill, her chest heaving with the effort of talking while she was fighting.

“That’s not saying much. The Old Man thinks you’re this great tactician, always thinking outside the box. But I don’t see it. You were worthless against the Cylons down there on New Caprica. Frakkin’ disappeared the day they got there.”

She kept jabbing, her mouth grim, not making eye contact. Maybe he was getting somewhere.

“Worthless as a wife. You couldn’t get some frakkin’ meds for your own husband. You know he nearly died after you went missing. All because you couldn’t keep your pants zipped. Had to go and frak up the only real friendship you ever had.”

She came at him then, jabs and uppercuts and punches, and a couple of them connected. He heard more than felt a crack, and figured maybe she’d gotten to a rib.

“Hell, you couldn’t think your way out of a paper bag, much less a frakkin’ Cylon cell. Couldn’t protect your own kid. No wonder she didn’t want you for a mother. She’d have been better off with the Cylons.”

Her face drained of color and she froze. She turned for the hatch, and when she couldn’t get it open, she fought against it, getting more and more frantic in her need to escape. He approached slowly, and was still several feet away when she collapsed to the deck, her face buried against the hatch, silent, jerking sobs tearing at her body.

_What the frak. That’s not what I wanted. Starbuck doesn’t give up. Ever. Doesn’t know the meaning of giving up._

He knelt on the deck behind her, his arms going around her, sitting back and pulling her into his lap. She fought him, just as fiercely as she’d been punching him minutes ago, and he held her tighter and tighter until she gave up.

“I’m -”

“Don’t start being nice now, you frakkin’ son of a bitch,” she mumbled into his chest.

“The day I’m nice to you is the day you know I’m a Cylon.”

“Come on, tell me how you really feel, old man.”

She wriggled in his lap, landing an elbow in his chest, and his breath whuffed out, leaving behind a slightly sick sensation in the pit of his stomach. He pulled her arms behind her, tightening his grip.

“You’re not really gonna stop fighting now, are ya?” he taunted. “We’re just getting started.”

“I’ll quit if I want to, old man.”

“You’re fighting like a girl, Starbuck.”

She stiffened and if he hadn’t been holding her arms behind her, he was sure she would have elbowed him in the nose. “Fine. Let me up. We’ll see who fights like a girl.”

He stood, still holding her arms behind her. When they were both on their feet, he released her arms and pushed her away. It would give him a couple of seconds to get into defense mode. Hopefully she’d blast out of whatever funk she was in.

Kara turned slowly. “You think I fight like a girl, huh? Get ‘em up, old man, or is that a problem for you?” Her tone was a match to the derision on her face when she glanced down at his crotch.

He didn’t rise to the bait, kept his gloves up, his good eye toward her, dancing around her. “I’ve got ‘em up, Starbuck. When are you gonna start fighting?”

She danced around him, just at the edge of his vision no matter how he tried to keep her in sight. When the blow came, his only warning was the whoosh as the air rushed past her gloved fist on its trip to his chin. She stood still, watching impassively as he lost his balance and fell to one knee.

“Come on, old man. Get your frakkin’ ass up!”

“Give me a minute, Starbuck. You actually clipped me pretty good there.”

She snorted and pushed at his shoulder, and he had to put a hand down to balance himself. She came closer and knocked him over, then straddled his prone body. “This is what you really wanted, isn’t it? You coulda just said so. Everybody knows that Starbuck’ll frak anybody but her husband.” She put her mouth to her wrist, trying to undo the glove. When she got it loose, she tossed it across the gym without watching where it landed, and put her hand down between them. 

He didn’t know whether to be ashamed or not that he was already more than half-erect and hardening further under her questing fingers.

“You want me to put up a fight?” Her voice had gotten softer, teasing in an unfriendly sort of way.

He caught her knee as he sat up, pushing her off-balance, off of him. “A fight is all I want from you.” It wasn’t true, but maybe he could lie to himself a little while longer. “Get these gloves off me.”

She tore at the fastening on her other glove, throwing it over her shoulder carelessly, then got both of his undone. She got to her heels warily, waiting for him to make his move.

He stood, pulling her with him, then pushed her away, getting his fists up. He saw her gaze flick down his body and back up again, the merest suggestion of a smirk on her face. He grated out, “Let’s go.”

“How ya gonna explain the bruises on your face to the Old Man, old man?” She didn’t even bother moving around much. He hated that with only one eye, he couldn’t give her half the fight he could have given her two years ago.

“That’s probably what I should be asking you, _Starbuck_.” He pushed forward on one foot and smacked her square in the nose, not too hard, but enough to sting.

Her eyes watered and she put a hand up over her nose. “Frak!”

“Toldja I wanted a fight. Let’s go.” They danced around a few more minutes, but it was clear the fight had lost its momentum. 

She rushed his bad side and got a punch in, and he managed to spin and throw her into the wall in retaliation. She put her hands flat on the wall to push out. He let her turn, then got in close, forcing his knee between her legs.

She glared up at him, and he waited until he could feel the tension rushing under her skin, knew she would throw a punch or a kick any second. He shuffled his feet so he could flatten her against the wall.

The only indication she felt his erection was a tiny flick of her eyelashes, not even a full blink. They stared at each other for a couple of minutes until she finally broke the silence. “If you’re gonna do it, frakkin’ do it, old man. Get it over with.”

“What makes you think I want to do it again?”

Her fist around his erection, fingertips digging in painfully, was his answer. “This.”

“You gonna try to tell me it’s not what you wanted when you showed up here?”

“I’m not gonna tell you anything. If you wanna frak me, do it. If you wanna fight me, back your old ass up and get your fists up again.”

He shrugged his shoulder to wipe the sweat off his chin and wrinkled his nose. “Gods. That’s disgusting. You can take care of this while I shower.” He ground against her.

“What makes you think _I_ want to?”

“It’s a frakkin’ blow job, Starbuck, not a first date.”

She stiffened, and he thought maybe he’d gone too far, but she just bounced him off and headed for the hatch. “Better make it worth my while, old man.”

He snorted. Like she’d ever met a blow job she didn’t like.  
~*~*~*~*~*~  
He got to his quarters and she wasn’t there, but showed up less than five minutes later, shower kit and clean clothes in a bundle under her arm.

“You think a fight gives you the right to use my private shower, pilot?”

“I got off a CAP and went straight to the gym, old man. I spent four hours in a sweaty flight suit. If I don’t get a shower, I’m not stayin’. You can take care of that,” she pointed to his still-tented zipper, “yourself.”

“Fine. But you shower after.” He pulled his tanks off and tossed them, then unzipped his pants and toed off his shoes.

“Whatever.” She started stripping down while he adjusted the water temperature. She hung her kit on the hook next to his, then looked all the way down and back up. “I take care of you, what’s in it for me? You’re too frakkin’ old to get it up again inside of a couple hours, and I’m not rubbin’ it out myself.”

“I’m not that old.” He pushed his pants and briefs off his hips and got in the shower. “Do I need to make it an order, Captain?”

A nasty grin spread slowly over her face. “You make it an order, _sir_ , and it’s the last time you’ll enjoy the pleasure of my company. Or anyone else’s.”

“Well, I’m sure as frak not saying please.”

“Good.” She grasped him firmly.

 _Gods. Pilot hands. I can’t even remember the last time…_ It was like doing it himself, only better. She knew exactly when to apply pressure and where, when to lighten her touch to almost nothing.

“Soap.”

He reached over his shoulder, got the soap wet, and handed it to her. He closed his eyes as she worked him, her fingers and fist slippery on his cock and balls, her short nails occasionally digging into his skin. She had a gift for knowing when the pain would accentuate the pleasure rather than actually hurt. By the time she’d rinsed the soap off and gone to her knees, his climax was mere seconds away. Still, when he opened his eyes and looked down at her, he wanted to shove himself down her throat and wipe that satisfied expression off her face.

Thinking about it was as far as he got; his orgasm ripped an unmanly whine from him and he had to close his eyes again. He couldn’t look at her, couldn’t stand the pity he’d probably see in her face. Godsdamn arrogant bitch knew when she was on her knees, she held all the power. He leaned into the wall of the shower and listened to her washing herself. He didn’t open his eyes until he heard her say, “I’m done, old man,” followed by the slap of her feet on the floor into his quarters.

He didn’t know what he’d been expecting when he came out of the head, but Kara Thrace standing there, hip cocked in bad attitude, sneer on her face, body draped in one of Ellen’s dresses? That wasn’t it. He heard a sob, and when Kara’s face changed, he realized it had been him.

She rushed at him. “No! Come on, old man! Make me take it off! I’m invading your wife’s stuff and you need to do something about it!” She heckled him until he finally hauled off and hit her.

“That’s it. You can do better than that, though, can’t you? Hit me harder, old man.” 

She stood there waiting and he shouted something even he didn’t understand and pushed her into the wall, one hand on her shoulder and the other going under her chin. He pressed harder and she gagged. He loved the way it sounded, and for half a second, he contemplated going through with it, but he looked down, and all he could see was Ellen’s dress. He’d already killed one woman, the drunkest, cheatingest woman he’d ever met, the woman he loved beyond all reason. He couldn’t imagine having to tell Bill that he’d killed another one.

Something else inside cracked then, when he realized Bill had welcomed him back from New Caprica with open arms, and he’d pissed all over not just the second chance - another one - Bill had given him, but the friendship, too. He really was a useless old fool. He let go of her and backed away.

“What the frak is wrong with you, old man?” She stalked toward him, matching him step for step until he backed into his rack and lost his balance, flopping ungracefully down onto it. “You’re supposed to fight me, godsdammit!”

He looked up at her through the veil of tears and alcohol, could see the bruises already forming on her neck and he was humiliated. _Since when do I not have enough self-control to keep from actually hurting someone? She’s a pain in the ass, Saul, but she’s a Fleet officer, not your personal toy._ He felt the tips of her fingers brush over the tears on his cheeks, the gentle touch completely unexpected, and not entirely welcome. The fingers withdrew and his head rocked back at the punch he never saw coming. He reached for her, gripping her forearms in tight fists. Her frantic struggles reignited his anger, and he pushed up to stand, jerking her toward the table. 

Bent over the table like that, in one of Ellen’s dresses, she reminded him too much of Ellen. He flashed back to the last time he’d had Ellen bent over something, and he mindlessly pulled at his belt. She wanted him to hit her, he’d hit her. He gathered the belt in one fist, pushed the dress up over her ass with the other. She hadn’t even bothered to put panties on, and she was ready for action. 

He fingered her roughly, eliciting tiny moans and sighs, then withdrew his hand. He didn’t give her a chance to wonder what he was doing, just pulled his hand back. The whoosh of the belt through the air, the crack of it on her ass...he almost groaned aloud. This had always worked for him.

“Ow! Frak! What -” She tried to stand up.

He pressed down on her back and applied the belt again. He laid another three stripes across her ass, and she stopped struggling. Another three and she was almost panting. Another three and she was whimpering, the sound of her arousal enough to get him fully hard again. He counted out four more and dropped the belt to the floor.

He admired the bright hue, shaped her ass with his hands. He’d forgotten how pretty a woman’s ass could look after he’d spanked her.

“Gods.” The guttural groan hung in the air for a moment or two.

“Burns, doesn’t it?”

“Mmmhmm.”

“A little something I learned on an R&R. Comes in handy sometimes.”

She didn’t answer, just moved her head in some sort of nod.

Saul gave no warning before plunging into her, and was gratified when her yelp turned into a moan. He gripped her hips tightly, knowing she’d have bruises tomorrow. These he could live with. The thought of the ones on her neck nearly undid him, though, so he pushed the images away and concentrated on what was right in front of his face. Starbuck’s ass, all rosy from a spanking, and she was his for the taking.

As he stroked in and out, she started to squirm, and he watched her hand creep down. He waited to grab her until she was about ready to push under her hip. He stopped everything and pulled out, relishing the pained whimper from Kara.

“What the frak!”

“I’m in charge here, in case you’ve forgotten, Starbuck.”

“Whatever, old man. Just get on with it.”

“Keep your hands where I can see them.” He waited until she had them flat on the table above her head, and eased back in, hands firm on her hips again. He had to bite his lip to keep from moaning. Gods, she was tight. He kept it slow as long as he could stand it, then went hard and fast until he shuddered and came. 

He stayed put, putting his palms on her ass and squeezing. Her sharp intake of breath at the reminder of the pain tugged at his groin. Give him a few minutes, he’d be ready to go again.

When she spoke, her voice was breathy, a little shaky. “What the frak are you doing?”

“Rubbin’ it in. Making sure you don’t forget.”

“I haven’t forgotten a frakkin’ thing, including the fact that I haven’t come yet.”

He didn’t bother to hide the smile; she couldn’t see him. “True.” A sudden flash of inspiration, and he grabbed her, turned her around, and boosted her back onto the table. When her ass made contact with the surface she winced. “You wanna be frakked? You want to come? Then you’re going to behave like the lady you’re dressed as.”

Her mouth dropped open. “You want me to act like Ellen? You’re a sick frakker, Colonel.”

“No, godsdammit! You couldn’t be Ellen if you tried.”

She smirked at him even as she shifted to ease the pain in her backside. “I don’t know. I might’ve frakked almost as many men. Give me a couple of years.”

He picked her up and set her down again. Hard.

“Frak! What was that for?” If she could have reached her ass, she’d be rubbing it.

“You don’t insult Ellen, I don’t insult Sam. Or Lee, for that matter.”

She shrugged, but agreed anyway. “Fine. Husbands and wives are off-limits. You gonna get back to business now, old man?”

He cocked his head. She’d lumped Lee in with “husbands and wives.” He pushed it away. Not important now. “I am. Scoot to the edge of the table.”

She started to do it automatically, then stopped. “Why?”

“Just do it.”

She squinted her eyes and said, “No.”

He shrugged, picked her up, and tossed her on the rack. His knees probably weren’t up to being on the floor, anyway.

He pushed her down, slid the dress up over her hips. Kara kept her legs tightly together. “What’s this, Starbuck? You can dish it out, but you can’t take it?”

“No.”

There was something odd in her voice.

“Thought you wanted to get off.”

“Not that way.”

He didn’t know what she was afraid of, but it was rolling off her in waves. “Why not?”

“No.”

No way he was letting it go now. He took a stab in the dark. “What happened to you down there?”

Her face shut down completely. “None of your business.”

She was right, in a way. He wasn’t the XO anymore, wasn’t even Fleet, except that Bill hadn’t made it official. But he was still _her_ XO, and maybe in some twisted shared-Occupation way, her friend. He didn’t know where he found the self-restraint, but he lowered his voice and spoke gently. “Take the dress off, Starbuck.”

She stared up at him, eyes wide, cheeks pale. 

He nodded. “Take it off.”

She hugged her arms around herself, then unwound them and turned her back. She reached to the side and undid the zipper, pulling the dress over her head and letting it pool around her hips.

He gathered the edges in his hands and pulled the whole thing away and went to hang it up. When he came back, she was still sitting there, unmoving, back turned. “Turn around.”

She shook her head, dug her nails into her knees.

He sat back down and put his hands on her shoulders. She flinched. “Do you need me to turn off the lights, Starbuck?” He had a weird sense of disassociation - he didn’t know where the slow and careful Saul was coming from, but it seemed to be working. Maybe.

She didn’t move for almost a minute, then she nodded her head.

He left the light in the head on so they didn’t trip over any of the mess he had strewn about, and went back to the rack. “Turn around now.”

She shrugged her shoulders way up high and held them, then let them go and turned around, very slowly, refusing to look at him.

He put his fingers under her chin and forced her head up. It took everything he had not to recoil at the sight of tears streaming down her face. _What the frak did those bastards do to her? What the frak could be so bad it would make Kara Thrace, Starbuck, cry?_ “What did they do to you?”

She shook her head, her mouth in a tight grimace. “I can’t.” She took a deep breath and apparently decided to ignore her tears. “Just frak me, okay? Just do what we came here for! It’s what I want. For once, I want to decide.”

 _What the frak. No._ He’d never considered that. And at the moment, he couldn’t think of anything more repugnant than frakking her in this condition. What a hardass he was. Then he thought about what little time it’d been since they’d gotten out of that hellhole, and all the violence they’d visited on each other. He barely held it together at the thought that he might have been all but raping someone who had barely had time to recover from four months of gods knew what, including rape. And Kacey. Kacey was a trigger for her, too. Gods. He mentally scrubbed his face. _What the frak am I supposed to do?_

“What? I’m not good enough now? Should I hit you again? Would that make it easier?”

“Gods. No, Starbuck.” Too many things were racing through his head, chief among them: he didn’t think he could do this anymore. Hurt her. But gods, he needed it still. Maybe she did, too. He reached out, hoping she didn’t notice his fingers shaking, and put his hand on the bruises on her neck. No pressure, but it got what he was after.

She almost smiled. “Now you’re talking, old man.”

He searched for any excuse he could come up with. “You gotta give me a little time, let me go slow. I already had two, and I’m not exactly young anymore, as you keep reminding me.” He didn’t care if she believed he couldn’t get it up again so soon, though truthfully, that had never really been a problem for him. Wouldn’t be now, when the timing was right.

That fear swept over her face and was gone so fast he wasn’t sure he’d seen it, but she lifted her chin and said, “Fine. Go slow. But don’t pretend I’m some delicate flower. I can take whatever you’ve got.”

He dug his fingers in a little and pushed. Not much, but enough that she had to lie back in the rack. He loomed over her, intentionally intimidating, and squeezed just a little bit harder, until he could feel her swallow. “I’m not sure you can, Starbuck. So to prove it, you’re going to let me do whatever I want, for however long I want. No matter what, you can’t stop me.” He let go of her neck and trailed his fingers slowly down her shoulder and over her chest and belly, and there it was. A flash of fear.

All the things they’d done to each other since that first time, the blows they’d struck, the anger and the hurt and the hate, and it was intimacy that scared her. No wonder she’d run from Lee to Sam. The Anders pup didn’t know enough to look beyond the mask she showed everybody. _Where the frak is all this insight coming from? I’m just as frakked up as she is._ He shoved the thought away and straddled her.

He touched everything, lingering on the bruises and scars, deliberately keeping his touch gentle and slow, and his eyes on her face. He saw when she was uncomfortable, when she wanted to stop him, when what he was doing actually turned her on. As an unexpected bonus, he looked forward to kicking her ass at the Triad table now; she had a lot of tells, and he was learning all of them.

He got to the scars on her belly and she froze, fists clenched. He didn’t ask. When her eyes closed, he leaned down and kissed them, and she whimpered. He sat back up and scooted down her body. Her eyes were wide and nearly black. He skimmed her hips, his thumbs down the front of her thighs, then up again, her legs stiff beneath him. He moved down farther, exploring the obvious scars on her knee and shin, the smaller, less noticeable ones every soldier carried.

When he got to the foot of the rack and had his hands on her ankles, he bore down on them, watching the way she pretended not to react to the restraint. He pushed his hands up to her knees and down again, then encircled her ankles and waited for her to look at him. When she did, he picked one up and kissed it. She turned her head, just enough that he noticed, then stopped herself and faced forward.

He picked up the other ankle and kissed it, and when he put it down, he made sure her feet weren’t together. She twitched, like she wanted to move them, and flexed her hands, took a deep breath, but maintained eye contact. He moved her feet farther apart and she opened her mouth, then closed it again when he clicked his tongue. He smoothed his hands up the inside of her shins and spread her knees apart. She stiffened up, and he had to keep the pressure on, but she gave in. Palms up her inner thighs, and gods, she was firm. Skin over muscle...he spent a few minutes just touching her, waiting to see if she’d stay with him.

He moved in, an easy, lazy change in position that he’d perfected with Ellen over the years, and he was right there, taking everything in.

“Nnn -” Kara cut herself off. 

He’d been right. Whatever her reasons were, she didn’t like this. “Remember, I’m taking my time. Gotta work back up to it.”

“Whatever, old man.” Her momentary bravado disappeared at the touch of his mouth on her - her face locked down and she turned her head to the side, unable to maintain her mask.

He kissed and licked and sucked as she held herself still. He knew it was an effort for her; the muscles under his hands quivered and twitched, and her fists had bunched up the sheet. She wasn’t quite enjoying it - yet - but mostly because she was refusing to let herself. 

_C’mon, Starbuck._ It’d been a long time since he’d done this for anyone but Ellen. _What would I do if Ellen was playing hard-to-get?_ He grinned and went in again.

She jerked. “Oh! Wha -” She clamped her mouth shut.

He lifted his head. “Something on your mind, Captain?”

She shook her head, and he went back to it with renewed zest. He’d never enjoyed watching, feeling, hearing, a woman come apart for him as much as he did Kara Thrace tonight.

Her final cries came out more as choked sobs, and he crawled up the rack quickly, kissing her chin, sliding his lips over the marks he’d left on her neck. “Gods, Kara,” he whispered. “It’s okay. You’re all right.”

She resisted his efforts to comfort her, and maneuvered herself so that she could push him onto his back. She wasted no time climbing on his erection and grinding down as hard as she could.

He caught her eye and raised his eyebrow. She not-quite nodded at him and dug her fingertips into his chest, riding him until he released with a suppressed shout, hands tight on her thighs, leaving more marks he was grateful she didn’t have to explain.

He pulled her down onto his chest and they lay there panting, hearts pounding almost in sync as they cooled down. He fell asleep with her still cradled on his chest, and woke with her gone.  
~*~*~*~*~*~  
When he yelled, “Enter!” the hatch opened and Kara stepped in. 

She shut the hatch and leaned against it, looking at the floor. 

“What do you want, Starbuck?” He put out the cigarette and stood up.

“I don’t want to fight today.”

He walked over and put his hand in her line of sight. “C’mon, then.” He pulled her in front of him and walked her toward his rack, then stripped her tanks and bra off. She stayed at the edge of his rack, and he reached his arms around to unbutton her pants. She took over with the zipper, pushed her pants and panties down, toed off her shoes, and stepped out of her clothes. 

He palmed her breasts and squeezed, and she sighed. “Yeah.”

He pushed her chin around to kiss her, and she turned around. “You ready, Starbuck?” She nodded.

He laid her on the rack and climbed in with her.

This time was completely unlike any of their other encounters - slow kisses, soft moans, gentle hands. She kept her eyes open, as if she were making an effort to stay present, in the moment. Even her orgasm was quiet and without the usual fanfare. She rolled to her side and pulled his arm around her and laid there quietly.

It didn’t take her long to revert to form. “This doesn’t mean you get to be nice to me all the time, old man.”

Saul pulled her in tighter, pushed her hair aside so he could get to her neck. “As if I’d ever be nice to you.”

Kara wiggled a little, getting more comfortable. “S’what you said about frakking me, too. And look what happened.”

He snorted. “This isn’t frakking. We’re still circling, exchanging blows. We’re just doing it without our clothes on.”

“Somehow, I don’t think anyone else would see it that way.”

“Good thing no one knows, then.”

Kara was silent for a moment, then took a deep breath. “You realize we have to stop doing this.”

“I know. The Old Man needs us. Needs his XO and his Top Gun back.”

Kara turned over, fit her leg over his hips. “If it’s the last time, better make it count. Make it hurt.”

He pulled her into a kiss. “I can do that.”  
~*~*~*~*~*~  
Saul opened his hatch and Kara rushed in, arms full of charts, chattering too fast for him to keep up. It had been days since she’d been here. He’d actually sort of missed her.

“Slow down. What the frak are you so excited about?”

“I guess you heard about Bulldog?”

He nodded. “Yeah. It’s probably another frakkin’ Cylon trick.”

She spread the printouts over his table. “I think it is. Look!” She pointed out the lines of sight, the missed shots, the near impossibility of the entire thing. “He flew here in a Raider. A Raider, old man! No one else but me could even start the one I flew off the moon.”

He gave her a sharp squint with his good eye. “Okay. What else you got?”

“How’d he find us? He’s been gone how long?”

“Three years.”

“The war hadn’t even started yet. How’d he even begin to know where to find _Galactica_?” She outlined what he thought was a pretty good case for Bulldog being a plant, even if he was actually human.

“So what - you think he’s here to do what?”

“Infiltrate the fleet. Sabotage something. Plant tracking devices or bombs. Kill the Old Man. I don’t know.”

They looked at each other at almost exactly the same moment. “The Old Man.” Saul rooted through his locker for his sidearm, checked its load and hauled the hatch open. “What quarters the Old Man give him?” Kara gave him the location and he hauled ass through the corridors to save Bill Adama from his own soft heart.  
~*~*~*~*~*~  
_Several weeks later_

“Lee isn’t doing it for you?”

She shook her head, seeming startled at the question, but didn’t directly answer. “I need the pain. When you hurt me, I don’t have to think about anything else. Everyone is too careful with me, but especially Lee. Since the Dance, he refuses to get rough, even when I _try_ to get on his nerves.”

His eyes widened at the casual reference to her affair with Lee, but he said nothing. 

“You don’t care.”

She was wrong about that. He did care. Not that he would admit it, even under torture. But she was right, too. He’d hurt her, if that’s what she needed. He understood the deep need to be punished for whatever it was she thought she’d done wrong. Gods knew he needed the pain sometimes. Kara was more like him than she’d ever know. 

He stood up and started undoing his belt, pulling it out of its loops. She gasped. 

“Should I tell Lee about the best way to keep you from thinking too much?”

From the color in her cheeks, she wasn’t entirely averse to the idea.


End file.
